


Memory Status:  Unknown

by c0cunt



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Rape, Unreliable Narrator, characters are unnamed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0cunt/pseuds/c0cunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is my memory real?  It definitely feels like it was real...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Status:  Unknown

  It  _felt_ like a memory, and I could _feel_ hands caressing my skin.  They moved unhurriedly, not relishing the feeling of my skin, but with a knowledge that I wouldn’t resist.  The tiny faux leather skirt I had thrown on concealed almost nothing, and the fact that I had decided not to wear panties...My heart squeezed in time with the hand on my bare ass, and I tried to swallow down my fear again.

  “Hey,” He cooed, and my attention was no longer focused on the blue wall across from me.  It was back on his greasy face, his crooked smile that was gentle and waiting.  “I can stop if you want me to,”  He continued, the hand that had stopped on my hip kneading impatiently.  Or, at least it felt like it was impatient to me.  The hand on my ass didn’t move, the heat from his body making me want to push him away, especially when he rocked forward slightly and I felt his hard cock (still trapped inside his pants) press against my belly.

  But I didn’t move.  I didn’t say a word as my eyes slid back to the blue wall, the two white doors, the slowly drifting dust motes visible in the light streaming from my open windows.  Someone could hear me if I said something, I thought vaguely.  I should say something, was my second thought.  My brain felt like it was running too slow, my tongue felt too heavy to say something, as his hand on my ass slipped up and over my hip, and down my front.  My toes curled, bare against the hardwood floor that creaked underneath our minute shifting.  I’m going to say something, I decided, my eyes focusing on the brass door knob that sparkled briefly when I tilted my head.

  I squared my shoulders, and took a deep breath as his hand snaked between my legs, and I faltered.  My thighs mostly touched, even with how my legs had spread from his prompting earlier, but his fingers weaseled their way past the last swell of thigh, and stroked the skin just below my vulva.  I wanted to snap my thighs together, push him away, scream, _something, anything, why are you letting this happen,_ but I still...What was stopping me?

  “Relax,” He purred, walking me into the wall.  Which, of course, made me tense up, especially as my eyes followed the hand that had been kneading my hip.  He was fiddling with his zipper, trying to pull it down single handedly, _why wasn’t I saying something,_ and the fingers near my vulva brushed upwards.  I sucked in another breath, my fists clenching as my head thunked back against the wall.  Panic was rippling under my skin in waves, _why can’t you say something,_ as his fingers carefully stroked areas I only ever read about in the clinical sense and _never_ touched.  My brain was chanting that it was gross, I was gross, this is bad, wrong, what am I doing, why am I letting this happen.  His fingers didn’t feel good or bad, just probing through warm slickness that made me want to gag.  He, on the other hand, laughed slightly as he got his cock out of his pants.

 “You’re so wet,” He breathed, grabbing my hand and holding it to his dick as he moved both of them.  My hand was trapped underneath his, forcibly moving slowly on his warm flesh, looking anywhere but between us.  His fingers that had been teasing my opening dipped in cautiously, once, twice, before swirling around the entrance again.  He looked about to say something once again, when there were three solid thumps on the left door.

  He jumped away from me, like an electric current had shot through him.  I could breathe again, as my dad called “Hey, Ann, I’m home.”  The flooring in the hallway creaked underneath him as he walked away, and I’d never been so thankful for my dad before in my life.  We stared at each other, the boy’s cock still out, and he stuttered as he flailed for the door on the right, and closed himself in with a box of tissues.

  I ripped off my stupid skirt, and made promises to burn it, as I pulled on my heaviest pair of underwear.  I shuddered at how gross the slickness from between my legs felt, being smushed against my body by fabric, and threw my heaviest pair of pants on as well.  The sound from the paused game, Super Smash Bros, finally reached me through whatever insulated cloud I had been drifting in, and I settled myself down in front of it.  Unpaused the game.  And fought.

  When he emerged from my closet, with stuttered apologies, as he wiped his hands on the bundle of tissues he’d taken with him, I didn’t take my eyes off the game as I flatly said “You should go.”  He muttered his agreement, wouldn’t look me in the eyes as he grabbed his shoes.  I paused the game to watch him go, unmoving from where I sat as he asked if I would walk him to the door.  I slowly stood up, skittering away from any slight movement he made towards me, and I led him out.  I forced a smile on my face when my dad asked if we’d had fun, and I felt his hand squeeze my wrist once before he left.

 

  I went back to my room.  Closed the door with a tired sigh.  And played my game.


End file.
